any suggestions..
im not finished
When the door slams closed from the summer breeze,
I know its not you coming home from seas.
And the rusting of footsteps emanating from beneath the door
It’s just a sad memory you will never be coming back from this war
When I grasp that handle on the door you stood and wished goodbye
Saying you’d be back for summer was your little white lie
You really didn’t have to go
Could have hidden those whims under the fresh fallen snow
My hearts rips like the knife that went into your flesh
But as your wounds old, my wounds are fresh
Enveloped with all you left behind
The smell of your shirt, the letters you wrote
All those things keeping me from my peace of mind
And from finding a happy note
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